


The Gift

by Mircalla74



Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Lesbian Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:00:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24169987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mircalla74/pseuds/Mircalla74
Summary: Anne Lister works too hard. But her wife is there to offer her assistance.
Relationships: Anne Lister (1791-1840)/Ann Walker (1803-1854)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 123





	The Gift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katieholtz_17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katieholtz_17/gifts).



> Well, well, well! This tale was been inspired by a request from a friend. 
> 
> I can only hope she likes it!

The day had been blessed by the sun, but in the last half an hour, the golden rays which had filtered through the leaded windows into the bedroom throughout the day had lowered, and then faded away. The light was falling out of the sky, and yet still Ann was alone. 

She rose from the bed, dressed only in her chemise and drawers. She had returned there after dinner, where she had joined Marian and Aunt Anne. The three had played cards after a meal of pheasant, a gift from Isabella, cabbage and potatoes, washed down with more madeira than Anne would have deemed seemly. However, after a while, Ann felt the need to rest, and she returned to their bedroom. Well, she had rested now. All she needed was for her wife to make an appearance, and they could begin their evening alone together.

She had bought a further bottle of madeira upstairs with her, two of her own crystal glasses and a embossed silver bowl filled with figs. Ann had laid them out, on a little matching silver tray she had bought with her from Crow Nest, on the rosewood side table she had bought for Anne when she had believed she had lost her, next to the fire which she had been tending with the occasional log since the maid set it for her bath. Anne was so often out late into the evening, and Ann knew she was tired. She knew this because, increasingly, Anne returned home every night, simply to fall sleep beside her. Little conversation. Fleeting moments of intimacy, half imagined. Ann had seriously begun to wonder if her wife had found a mistress to go to, especially now that they had been wed for more than a year. In one way she had been right. The coal mine was the other woman, the coal mine was the mistress who now had Anne Lister at her beck and call. Who drew Anne to her every morning, returning her home, spent, late every night.

Climbing down from the elaborately carved four poster bed decked in deep red velvet drapes, padding softly around the room in bare feet, Ann carries a pack of spills with her. Lighting candles until every mirrored wall sconce and every candle on every table were lit, and the dark wood panelled room is bathed in a soft, warming glow. She goes to the window, looking out over the terrace in the twilight. Anne still nowhere to be seen. Ann stands and waits, unsure for how long. Convinced that in just a moment Anne will appear. Ann waits until the last of the daylight is stolen from the sky, and the moon slowly takes over. She sighs. And pulls the heavy red curtains closed. 

Anne should have been home for dinner, and now that time has long passed. When she returns tonight, Ann wants them to drink the wine, eat the figs, and talk by the fire. She dresses herself in a fresh chemise and drawers. An exquisite lace trimmed set Anne bought for her in Paris on their honeymoon, which now seems so very long ago. She brushes out her golden curls, and braids her thick hair tightly with a velvet ribbon. She then returns to bed, with a book, and waits for the sound of boots in the hall, heralding Anne's safe return.

Ann isn't sure what time it is, when she feels the foot of the bed sink down under Anne's weight as she sits. Ann hears her wife's voice muttering low. Something about wasting candles. Ann sees that, sadly, most of the ones she had so carefully lit have already been snuffed out. She sits up, silent. Anne taking off her boots. Taking off her jacket, whilst remaining on the bed. Removing her pocket watch, checking the time, and placing it on the table set with the madeira and fruit. Ann watches as her wife reaches again, and taking a fig from the bowl, leans back a little on the bed. Still unaware that Ann is sitting up, watching her. She eats the fruit in a manner that borders on obscene, ripping the tender skin with her teeth, scooping out the softly silken, moist flesh with her tongue. Ann feels her mouth go dry, her core tightening with the memory of the times Anne had devoured her with the same erotic style. 

She watches as her wife shucks her waistcoat from her shoulders, and onto the bed. Next her stock, unspooling the dark patterned silk from her neck. Ann smiles, as she sees that her wife takes it off with the same dramatic flourish, even when she believes herself to be alone and without an audience. Anne Lister is magnificent, she thinks, her eyes roaming over her broad shoulders, the back of her neck where the tiny dark and silver hairs spring loose from her style. Her jaw. Her ears. In the low light, Ann studies her wife's cheekbones. Her brow as she turns her head, finally, to see Ann watching her. The voyeur in her bed. 

"You're awake" 

It's a simple statement. Not a question. No intent behind it. And yes, Ann is awake. Her neck and chest flushed beneath the creamy lace. The very start of the inferno that will inevitably rage through her body. The intense desire she feels for Anne Lister had grown alone without any nurturing or care from Ann's teenage years onwards. And now Ann is the permanent resident in Anne Lister's bed, that desire has been frequently fed, watered and warmed. After these last few years of nurturing, Ann's desire for her wife has grown immeasurably. Tonight, as she stares at her, she feels the power of her lust begin overwhelm her. She knows that tonight has to be the night she takes Anne Lister for her very own.

Anne has turned again, and without waiting for a reply she stands, loosening the ties at her narrow waist, and drops her black bombazine skirt from her waist to the floor. Stepping out of it and carrying the garments to a chair to lay them out for the morning. Ann watches as she takes off her shirt. The muscles across her back glisten under the low light. Suddenly, Ann is uncomfortably wet. Her wife is a vision of strength and power, and Ann is weak for her. Anne turns to look at her, to see Ann gazing dumbly at her.

"Back to sleep, Ann. It's later than you think I'm afraid" 

Anne's voice is low. Gravelly. She sounds exhausted. And what time is it? The fresh tapers which have been allowed to remain burning from dusk, are now low in the pewter candle sticks.

"You didn't have dinner tonight?"

"I have. Cold cuts from the kitchen" she turns her head, and smiles at her wife. She reaches out one hand, and shakes wrist, as it pokes out from the covers, playfully. "I was starving, but quite full now"

Ann sits up properly, and climbs over the covers, and seats herself behind her wife. Sitting up on her heels, she whispers in her wife's ear:

"You're tired, my love. Let me help you"

And with that, Ann drags the laces through Anne's stays, freeing her at last. 

"Go back to sleep, Adney" Anne husks. Shattered.

"Hmm. I think I should do this first" and with that, Ann places her hands on Anne's shoulders, and begins to massage there. "You feel so taut!" as she starts to press a little harder, her fingers digging a fraction, pressing into Anne's tense muscles, under her velvet skin. Ann inclines her face, her lips catching her wife behind her ear, again at her neck, and finally, landing to rest on her shoulder. 

"Ann, I'm tired, hmm?"

"But you don't have to do anything but be there" replies Ann softly, her face in her neck, the words murmured onto her wife's skin. 

Ann readjusts herself a little, spreading her legs, straddling her wife on the bed from behind, feet on the edge of the bed, one on each side of Anne's knees. She takes her lace chemise off. Her naked breasts flush with Anne's spine, her core pressed tight against the small of Anne's back. Ann exhales loudly when the pressure reaches her clit.

"Ann?" Anne is confused, unsure what her wife is doing. She tries to turn, but finds she is locked in place by her wife's legs. Her knees pressing in. 

"Anne, hush now. Relax, hmm?"

"But!"

"Anne, calm down" Ann says, breathless. "You don't need to do a thing, except relax, my love" and with that Anne leans back slightly, and Ann almost forgets what she is doing, as pleasure from the contact of skin on skin, the pressure on her breasts, on her clit, combine too suddenly. 

Ann's hands continue to press, roaming over and massaging along her wife's neck, her shoulders, her arms, to her wrists, her hands now gripping onto Ann's ankles. Anne sighs, audibly. Ann smiles, and licks the back of Anne's neck, and continues around to her side, nibbling her ear, her lobe, as she runs her hands over her shoulders, almost pulling herself up, and ever closer to her wife. Her core, wide open, pressed harder, her clit pulsing. Ann knows that the pressure and the proximity to her wife will see her orgasm arrive sooner rather than later. 'That will never do!' she thinks. And rests back a little, stroking down her wife's side, and onto her stomach, avoiding her breasts. Ann would dearly love to touch them, as she loves to be touched. But she knows that will probably never happen. What she has been allowed to do, from time to time, is briefly. Very briefly, touch Anne's pubis. Never lower. Certainly never inside. But Ann wonders if that will be the case tonight. She is determined to try. 

"Oh my love you work so hard, hmm?" Ann breathes in her ear. "Home so late, working all hours"

"Yes, but that's -"

"No, it's good that you are out there. Working with your men, hmm? I like it, because then you get to come home to me" Ann says, soothingly. "Either happy, or angry" Ann giggles at her own boldness "I quite like you both ways. Both can be very attractive..."

She kisses her neck where her moist breath has hit. Anne gasps. Ann's hands find their way to the apex of her thighs. Ann looks at her wife, her head back, resting the crown on Ann's shoulder, mouth agape. She won't find any resistance here tonight.

One hand moves lower, further still, until it finds Anne's slit. Wet. Delighted, Ann gasps and grins. She now feels braver still.

"So wet, so soon, Miss Lister?"

"Hnng!" Anne moans, as Ann's hand reaches her clit. Her legs part swiftly, giving her wife the access she needs.

Ann traces through her wet satin folds lightly, brushing slowly through from her clit to almost. Almost! her entrance. The first time she had approached, Anne had tensed visibly. So no. Not that. But close. She trails a fine line through her wife's sex. Gently tracing with soft fingers, drawing lazy figure eights over her wife's clit, drawing out low, feral cries, and guttural carnal groans from her wife. This is going better that she had anticipated. Ann feels like she is flying. She is on the brink of making Anne Lister come in a way she hadn't been allowed to before. Her breasts still pushed up against Anne's back, begin to harden. She looks down at her wife's breasts, and in the warm low light, they appear to have done the same. The vision of this, Anne, glistening with fresh sweat, her head back, her breasts bare, her legs spread, is like a painting. Intoxicating the viewer with it's sensuality. Ann presses herself harder, firmer, into Anne's back, and moans loudly, the pressure increasing, the pleasure beginning, all over again. 

Her little hand is working wonders, trailing shapes, tighter and tighter until they become circles. Focusing only on her wife's clit now. Massaging the length, pressing deeper as her wife begins to stiffen and shudder, the timbre of her moans deepening. Her cries catching in her throat, breathing in loud snorts through her nose, and out, hissing through her teeth, as Anne clenchs her jaw.

It is the shuddering that first alerts Ann to her wife's impending release. And it is the pulse she can feel coming from Anne's clit, through her fingers that confirms it. The feeling of a woman about to orgasm at your hand is truly like nothing else, Ann thinks. Ann doesn't believe she will ever have enough of her. She still cannot believe Anne would want her, and yet her she is. And look at what she is allowing Ann to do to her! Ann doesn't believe she has ever felt closer to wife. Her own core is on fire, divine pressure building, her own release hurtling towards her.

"Come for me, my love" she husks into her wife's ear. Her voice low, dripping with lust, as she presses and rubs a little harder over her wife's rock hard bundle of nerves. Anne comes, with a low growl so indecent the vibration of it, as it erupts from Anne's body, is enough to send Ann running and dancing over the edge with her. 

The two, melting into each other, Ann laying down on the covers, pulling Anne down over her. Anne doesn't resist. She lays where she is sat, her head just beneath her wife's breasts. Her hands no longer gripping Ann's ankles, where they have each left a deep red mark, but now holding Ann's hands. 

"Adney -"

"Shush, my love..." 

And the room was suddenly in silence, but for soft breathing, as the last candle lowered, and the last log burned in the grate. Seeing Anne Lister come is truly a gift from God. Ann smiles to herself.


End file.
